I Don't Have the Words
by Madoushi-Clef
Summary: Five years after the series is over one pilot seeks solstice and closure from another. 3+4


Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, or any other Gundam series, but if they don't want the rights anymore, I'll gladly take them off their hands. ~_^  
I wrote this feeling rather depressed and highly poetic. It's an exercise in keeping in character. Though frankly, I think these two make a cute couple, very few seem do them justice.

Warnings:  
Yaoi, adult content (talk of drugs, abuse, suicide), sappy romance stuff, and angst. But I edited out the Japanese and fixed some fragments and other English grammer errors.

Enjoy!

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I Don't Have the Words

The days last longer than I expected, and the nights freeze much, much colder. Now that I have the time to take note of such things. But it was worth it, just to see his face. I used to think that only emotional people got such responses out of others. Well, I have never been accurate in my judgement of human beings. They are... such mysterious things... that create and destroy so much. Everything around them, from the colonies to Earth's greatest monuments, humans rip apart.

But when they create, life becomes something amazing.

I remember when Duo had come bounding through the doors to our room and exclaimed he had finished building this model toy... a ship? Yes, he built a model of Commodore Perry's vessel, the Susquehanna. It had rained the week before and to keep Duo from breaking the walls down, Heero bought a model kit and glue. I wonder, in retrospect, if Heero knew what that ship meant before he gave it to Duo? And why he bought it for Duo? In any event, Duo finally sat down to the thing and finished it in a few hours. Duo had been the happiest I'd ever seen him, save for when Heero ever gave him any attention.

Duo had set the ship on the table, in a makeshift stand of Wufei's chopsticks. He called everyone in. Heero had to tie Wufei to a chair, to keep from killing the braided boy. We listened to Duo recount the importance of the ship in history and how thankful he was about having the replica. All the guns lay piled at the makeshift base, and Duo made a point of tossing them all into the fireplace with a proud grin.

Wufei bought new chopsticks.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips with the memory. I miss them. Often, I find. Though I vowed at one point to not have anything to do with the war anymore, for them, I will make an exception. Well, I have made an exception.

I am sitting the room I stayed in whenever I visited this area with Quatre. It looks exactly the same, save for the hushed aura of fear over the servants and townspeople that is gone along with the war. The room is large and spacious, large enough to do a close-quarter workout. The bed is big enough to fit all five of us pilots in it, well, maybe not Duo... For being one of the smallest, he sleeps in such a position as to take up all of the bed, somehow.

All light-toned wooden furniture reminds me of his hair. The brightly decorated room feels cheery. Light blue curtains surround the bed. A pile of flower patterned pillows stacked neatly on the bed of various blue, mauve, and yellow shades coordinate perfectly with the colors of the room.

The writing desk sits next to the bed, supplied with all kinds of material, from sume-i brushes to quill and ink to the ballpoint pens found in every grocery store around the world. They too, all have a place for them, neatly stacked and set, ready to use; though I already wrote to Catherine.

The set of chairs, by the bookshelf opposite the bed, sit on the area rug that holds all the colors of the room. The deep blue background contrasts sharply the gold and yellow daffodils and mauve accents on the stamen. My bare feet look odd against such plush surroundings. I, who grew up on a dirt floor of an orphanage without a name.

The room normally looks bright and cheery, but I had the lights turned off. The only illuminating source filters through thick, blue sheets of fabric, casting a perpetual feel of twilight about me.

Or would it be the feel of heavy rain?

It never rains here, I tell myself. I wonder how he keeps his complexion so fair and light with all this sun.

Does he ever get out? No, I answer. He stays inside, working, always working. I shouldn't have bothered him. I shouldn't have come. But... but I miss them too much to stay away any longer. Quatre, I could come see without feeling odd. We've always been close. Nothing came of it; that makes me sad and happy to think about. Bittersweet, I guess. Most of the reluctance on my part, so I have no one else to blame. I don't keep up with the times, so I don't know if he and Dorothy have a relationship. It surprised me, seeing her here. She smiled at me coldly and questioned my presence like I was a spy. That had also been a bittersweet revelation.

To know that someone has to take care of Quatre, but to know he needs surveillance? It disturbs me. I asked Rashid of it and he told me nothing. That did nothing to ease my anxiety. Perhaps I should let such things lie. I have no duty to his welfare anymore, but still...

Yes, I will talk to Quatre about it.

"Quatre," The name escapes my lips.

He's grown a lot in the past years, or simply matured. His hair is still the same short style he's always had it since I've known him. His nose is longer, a little more pronounced, making his eyes seem to have shrunk, but truthfully it is his face that has grown. Although what I remember most about him is still there: that kind purity. It's not as pronounced as it once was, hidden behind the face of dignity and leadership that he wears now, but it's still present. I still see it, feel it, love it, and ignore it.

I should go see what they're serving for lunch. They'll be expecting me. I'd rather just dine with Quatre alone. I could talk to him then, but in front of everyone else? They'd ask me dozens of questions, nothing of which will entertain the hour that it will take them to finish and go. An hour before my questions are answered.

I sigh and head towards the bathroom. The water is very cold, and for that I am glad. The curtains to the bathroom are drawn open and the sun hits me like a wall. It's so bright I think I'll need to were sunglasses to see normally. I, who live in the dark of a circus tent and night shows. I should do something about that.

I wash my hands and face, looking at my refection in the mirror. Dirt brown hair drooping in front of my face, hiding one green eye. Might as well be one green marble for all the good it does. I run my fingers through my thick mop of hair. The other half of my face seems perfectly fine. I have no excuse for being delayed to lunch. I am in perfect health.

I try for a minute to see if I can force an emotional look through my training. First, I try smiling. It is a frightening sight, like Heero before he kills someone. The next emotion I attempt is anger. There should be a lot of that to access, and yet I can only find anger towards myself. That disappoints me in a way I can not explain. Should that make me sad? Upset? I cannot decide.

There is a knock on my door.

I towel dry myself quickly and open it.

Before me stands what should be deemed an Angel of God, if there is one to be hailed from. Those beautiful, ethereal beings with wings and golden auras Duo would speak of from time to time.

"Hi." He holds a tray of food in his hands and smiles at me easily. For a moment I see only his sparkling blue-green eyes before I become aware of myself again.

I take the tray from him and set it on the end table between the two chairs. Out of the corner of my eye I see that he reluctantly enters my dark chambers, and only then, stands a few feet from the door. I turn wordlessly and pull back the material, letting sunlight fill the room. I remember I didn't greet him with words and feel compelled to at least attempt to do so.

"Hello." I return him, finally.

He stands awkwardly before me in tan khaki pants and a white button up shirt. The top two buttons are left open and the sleeves are rolled up. He no longer wears his vest. Simple, brown penny-loafers adorn his feet, things taken on and off quickly. There is no ring on his finger, so he is not married. At least, not by my European standards.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and speaks. "I was wondering if we could have lunch and catch up. I... I haven't seen you in nearly... five years."

He is uncomfortable. I am unclear as to why, but I want to do something to put him at ease. "I am sorry for not contacting you sooner..." I try. I don't want him to think I don't care about him. "I..."

I don't have to words. I never did. Talking wasn't something allowed in the orphanage. I never learned how to properly express myself. Catherine has been trying to help me. But fluid words like Duo's or Quatre's will never come from my mouth. They twist everything together with such ease...

"No." He starts, taking half a step forward, reaching a hand out towards me. "No, don't be sorry. It's okay. You... needed some time." It falls back to his side. "I understand. So did I... Just some.. time... to think."

No, I say to myself. Time to escape. Thinking came after I decided that my life needed a review. It needed a... spring-cleaning. It needed the people I care about.

I realize that he has become awkward again with the silence between us. We were so much more comfortable with each other five years ago. Silence was nothing between missions in the war. And that night you asked me to stay with you. Your injuries weren't so serious as to think something might happen, but still, you asked. You fell asleep with my arms around you and I slept in peace, the whole night through.

The image is never far from my mind. I blink and realize we've been standing for some minutes.

"Perhaps-"

"Please." I cut him off with a word and motion for him to sit. I want to smile, but the sight of it unnerves myself as much as it would for him.

"The chef made your favorite -broiled ranch chicken- that still is your favorite, right?" He asks, worried.

He hasn't changed much in personality, has he? Always trying to please everyone. "Yes, Quatre." I manage a small smile, just a slight turning up the corners of my mouth. What should I ask him? Try something simple. "How have you been?" Emerges from my lips before I even know it.

He looks up at me, slightly surprised, then back down. While he thinks, I study the profile of his face. He's frowning deeply. Somehow it seems more misplaced on his face than a smile is on mine.

After a while he says, "Busy. Very busy. Politics are very tiring. And very meticulous. I only live for my work, I guess you could say." At that he smiles. "Have you heard from the others?"

I blink at him. The others? "No." I shake my head. "I only came to see you..." I only need to see you. But the others would be nice to see again. "How are you?"

Again he frowns. I do not like seeing him frown. Should I ask? If he wished to tell me, he will. We sit in silence for a while, and I wonder if he is ever going to answer my question. "What is wrong?" I prompt him.

"Hm?" He looks over suddenly. "Oh-oh... nothing. Nothing important. Just nonsense things. Don't worry about it."

"You worry about it." It was a stupid and childish argument from the moment that the words left my lips, and I knew it. But something was wrong. Dorothy treated me as a spy. There is silence in his household; that had never been known to happen. And now he frowns at simple questions? Something is wrong, dammnit, and I am going to fix it.

At my statement he frowns even more, almost scowls at it. Then as suddenly as it came, the look passed. "It is my life. I should worry about it." He states to me simply. "But, other than the usual drawl of my life, nothing out of the ordinary happened. L3 is signing the Gundanium alloy trade agreement. The survivors of L2 are rebuilding and fixing their colony. L1 is purging all of its weapons, still. L4 has been at civil rest for over a year now, and L5... there are crews salvaging what's left of it."

Why is it not surprising to hear that Heero 'The Perfect Soldier' Yuy's home colony was still disarming itself five years after peace? And my colony? "What need is there for Gundanium alloy now that there is to be peace?"

"It's the strongest metal in the universe. Earth plans to line it with lead and use it to build nuclear plants." He replied. "Yes, that was thoroughly looked into. We will not have another war like that again. Not in my lifetime anyways."

Good. "How are you?" I repeat my question.

"I'm fine." He answers immediately this time.

I take him at his word, for I know that with the distance between us he will not answer me anything else. Perhaps once we bridge it, the silence won't feel so... wrong.

"Why did you come back?" He asks me quietly.

I look at him for a short measure. Why did I come back? I missed you. I need you. It is really simple once you get right down to it. Although, Catherine could testify how long it took me to realize that. One would have thought that the separations during the war would be enough to make me realize how important you are to me. One would think. But I did not think. I tried not to feel either.

How well that didn't work.

So here I am again. Staring straight into your beautiful blue-green eyes that stare back at me with a neutrality and distance that is frightening. How do I tell you? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!

I squeeze my eyes shut. I do not deserve to look at you. I do not deserve your attention. I, who threw away the love of an Angel.

"Trowa?" You ask me, something close to worry lilting your voice.

I ignore it, holding my head tightly. All I hear is the chant of apology running through my mind coupled with images I'd never wish to forget. Images of you. You reaching for me in the dark docking bay on the way to intercept the OZ transport. You playing the violin. Your face smiling in the sunshine. The way you held your cup of tea. How you looked in the dying light of day, sleeping on my shoulder. How surprised you were to see me after the Veyaete exploded. The way your tears sparkled in the false light of the colonies. Little flashes of your face filled with worry during battles. The amazed looked on your face when I walked out from my Gundam. Every motion. Every word. Every look. Every gesture. Everything about you. From the different clothes you chose to wear to the accent laced in your Japanese.

I cannot get rid of the memories, and yet I do not want to.

There is a warm sensation on my cheek. I know I am not crying. I raise my hand to it and encounter another's. I open my eyes to see him standing in front of me smiling, softly smiling. He kneels down, never breaking eye contact and whispers something.

I do not hear what you speak to me, dear Angel. My mind is reeling from the physical contact between us. Tears spring to your eyes. This sight, though common in the past, horrifies me. This cannot be so, my Angel crying. With much conscious care, I raise my right hand to your face and wipe away the water trailing down it. I have to make it stop. I have no power, yet I know I must... for something.

I slide down to the floor with him and embrace my Angel. As I remember, he is still much smaller than I am. A tiny frame belaying everything else about him. Underneath his loose cotton shirt I can feel how thin he has become. I worry at this too, but push it from my mind to question about later. Quatre... Quatre, you are shaking in my arms. I hold onto you tightly, wondering if you want me to ask, or to simply be there. Simply be something to hold on to.

I let our lunches grow cold, not bothering to speak. I simply hold onto him and stroke his hair. I become conscious of the fact that he is speaking. Very, very softly, though his voice is muffled by my shirt and staggered by his need for air.

"T-Tro-wa..." I hear my name first. "Why?" He weakly raises a hand and thumps it against my shoulder. "Why... did you -you leave?" He chokes out. "What... did I-I do to-to... cause-"

"Shh..." I shake my head, forgetting that he can't see its movement. I close my eyes and run my fingers through his hair. In the past, that was the most calming thing for him. I rock him back and forth gently and think what to answer him. Why did I leave? Why did I hurt my Angel?

Why? Why? Why?

I've come to hate that question.

Catherine repeated that to me for days before I could answer her. Answer her about my addiction, my fear, my love, and my hate. Sometimes I still hate myself. At times... at times like now, I hate myself. At times like now, I want to kill myself.

But if I do that, I can never fix the pain.

"Why did I leave..." I let out a small sigh. "I am an idiot."

He laughs a moment. "No, you're-"

"Yes, I am." I correct him. He looks up at me with red, sore eyes glistening with moisture. I wipe his cheek with the back of my hand. Quatre... Quatre, you shouldn't forgive me. But I have to ask anyway. I have to know, so I can die in peace. Hmph. Do I deserve that? Trowa, I chastise myself, enough of this. What did Catherine tell you? Follow your heart. Well, my heart led me here. Now I have to fix all the pain I've caused. Okay... I drew in a deep breath. Here goes..."I'm sorry." I tell him. "I know you shouldn't accept that... but it's all I have. I am sorry. For leaving you... when I did. I'm sorry for hurting you." He opens his mouth to object, but I silence him with a finger. "I am sorry for being such a coward. And I am sorry for not being worthy of you." I lower my eyes to the floor, knowing that in the presence of one such as him, I cannot -deserve not to hold up my head.

"Trowa..." He says softly. "It's all right. You don't have to be sorry. I shouldn't have pushed... I mean you weren't ...or didn't... and I... I should be the one to apologize, Trowa. I'm sorry."

What do you have to be sorry for, Angel? I don't raise my eyes to his. I still stare down, at the yellow flower beside my right hand. Slowly I pick out each twisted fiber of its petal with my eyes. I open my mouth to say something, but I do not know what to speak. Across from me, Quatre has gone completely still. I hear him take in a sharp breath before he speaks.

"What..." he starts slowly, "did you say?"

I hadn't said anything. Confused, I look up into his blue-green eyes and blink a few times. "What?"

"You asked me... what did I have to be sorry for... angel." He blinks and lowers his gaze.

God, had I spoken that aloud? I must have, for him to know... He- Oh God he knows. Suddenly everything came into view in frightening clarity. The gold fringe lining the bottom of the light blue chairs behind him, each fiber was distinctly visible. The grain of the wood on the shelves along the walls, the titles of each book on the shelves, every thing shown itself to me in perfect clarity. And him, with his head bowed before me, I felt as if I could count every hair on his golden-yellow crown. What was I to say? What was I to do? Quatre, you are my Angel.

"I don't know what to do, Trowa." Quatre whispered. He stood up. "Hmph... Here I am at the age of twenty crying like a child... I am an adult. I live in the world of politics. I have no friends. I have no feelings." He told himself, shaking his head at the same time. "I live for my work." After some time he spoke, slowly at first, and very softly. "It hurt when you left, Trowa." He whispers defeatedly. "It hurt so much I wanted to kill myself." He throws away my touch and returns to his chair.

I slowly maneuver myself back into my chair, before he continues.

"It took me a year and a half to get over you. A year and a half of being watched like a mouse in a cage." He pointedly looked me straight in the eye. "Do you know what that feels like?"

I nod to him. I knew. Catherine did the same to me when I was recovering. I couldn't go to the bathroom without her checking it for needles, razors, or other sharp objects before I'd be let in. Then whenever she'd come to the subject of you...

"Then for another year Rashid dragged me to therapy. The counselor eventually told him that I was in love with you and he went... well, ballistic would be a naïve understatement. Suffice it to say he's hooked me up with every single female he can find in an effort to 'straighten me out'. Dorothy, being one of them. With her political mind and firm grasp of where the power lies, he thinks it would be good for me to have her around. Trowa, I'm finally learning to get over you, why did you come back? What brought you here? To me?" He trails off, sinking down into his chair.

What. What and why. "When I left, Quatre, I was running. Running very fast and very hard to keep away from everything that you represented to me. To keep from opening up. And why? Why indeed." I hiss out sounding very disgusted with myself for multiple reasons. "Quatre, I didn't want to be around you for fear that somehow I would taint you. I said you were an Angel and I meant it. I am a ...black hole, Quatre. I have nothing, I am nothing, I do nothing. I felt so empty when I left it hurt. For the first six months after I left I numbed myself to everything. I drank heavily, but in the end, that wasn't enough. I... I began using heroin. Heavily using heroin, I am ashamed to say." I let my head hang. "For over a year, and it nearly killed me."

I hear him shift in his seat and his brown loafers came into my range of blurring sight.

"Catherine threw me into a rehabilitation clinic and counseling. She, herself, questioned me constantly. 'Trowa, why did you start using drugs?' 'What are you running from?' 'Why do you hate yourself?' 'Why didn't you tell him?' 'What are you afraid of?' 'Why don't you trust him?' 'Why?' 'Why?' 'Why?' Every day." I feel the urge to smile as I had in the bathroom, smile with a frightening amount of bitterness. "And do you know what?" I ask him, a tear escaping my eye. "I found that I had left my heart and soul with you. And without you, I needed something else to live. And so... after nearly three years of recovery I've found the courage to come up here and talk to you." I look up into his glistening eyes. "So if you don't want my heart and soul, can I have them back?"

This is it. If he gives it back, I'll have to find a way to live on my own. If he keeps it, I don't know what to do... Except that I'll never leave him again.

"Trowa..." Quatre reaches a hand out to me. "I always loved you..." He whispers. "Even... even when I was angry, I think."

'I always loved you.' He blue-green eyes brighten when he says this, and I know somehow that it is the truth. Inside my heart begins to beat franticly and out of habit, I break the gaze, thinking; he doesn't hate me. He doesn't hate me. He doesn't hate me. I... what do I do? What should I say?

Kiss him, Catherine told me once. It is a great way of expressing your emotions. Could I do that? I look back up at him. He looks hurt. Oh no. I gave the wrong reaction. He was hoping for something different. Kiss him, she says. Okay. I've seen enough people do that. It shouldn't be too hard.

Right?

I drew myself up in one quick and fluid motion, bring our bodies to touch from nearly shoulder to toe. He let out a small gasp and took half a step back, almost falling away before I catch him. I have my arm around his waist. It is an electric shock touching him. We stop for a moment, breathing fast, and Quatre balances himself. I put a few centimeters of space between my arm and his body, though I absently wonder, why? Ironically I answer to myself, I don't know. I like the feeling I get when I touch him. It makes my blood run hot and cold all at the same time. It makes my heart beat a thousand times faster. And it makes my mind dizzy. It is a total lack of control. The opposite of everything I was taught as a soldier of war.

I like it.

I think the word is giddy. That would be what I want. It makes me feel giddy.

His face is flushed slightly, and his breathing has slowed, just a bit. The red tint in his pale skin set off his eyes. "Can-" I started. No, that wouldn't do. "Would- ...Will-..." I let out a sigh and close my eyes for a moment. I take in and let out a calming breath. "May I..." I set my gaze on him neutrally. By all of God's creations, he is so beautiful. "May I kiss you?"

Quatre nods slowly to me.

He's going to let me. I breathe in and out slowly through my parted lips, starring absently at his face. With each second it somehow is closer than the second before. I do not know which of us is moving, but for a moment I hesitate. What if this isn't real? What if this is all just some hallucination? A dream?

If that is true, then I won't ever let it go.

I close my arm around his waist and that electric shock hits me again. The entire length of our bodies connect. I lower my mouth to his and for eternity all that exists is the beat of his heart, the taste of his mouth, the heat of his body, and the fire consuming my own. When we parted, a few scant centimeters, to breathe, I find that his arms are around my neck, and both of mine around his waist. All the world is a splash of colors and lights as a backdrop for the Angel in front of my eyes.

I definitely want to do that again.

I open my mouth to ask him, but he closes the space between us, taking advantage of me, slipping his tongue in. This kiss is slightly different than the first. It has a sense of hunger in it, need. Want. Desire. Love. He bruises my lips, but I let him, and he explores my mouth without constraint. Impulsively I slide my tongue along his. His reaction is very encouraging as he lets out a soft moan from somewhere in his throat and pushes his hips into mine.

Caught by surprise, my balance is completely upset, and I fall forward. We separate somewhere in mid-air and he catches himself with his elbows, landing rather hard on the floor. I land above him uninjured, abet awkward with my hands being so far south of my shoulders. My long brown bangs pool on his shoulder, telling me how close I had come to hurting him upon landing.

I look up and Quatre flushes a bright crimson. "S-sorry." He manages.

I, myself, am relearning how to breathe and can only shake my head at him. I push myself away and study him. The light strikes his eyes in such a way they look almost completely blue. His hair has fallen away from his face, making a golden hallo against the deep blue carpet. His white shirt was pulled taunt around his chest outlining the front his body. I turn my face, feeling the heat creep up my neck, and suppress the greatest urge to lick my lips. My attention comes back to our lunches on the end table.

"Don't be sorry." I tell him. "I think... I think we should eat before they call us down for dinner."

He rights himself and walks up beside me. "Yeah, I think you're right." He reaches and picks up his plate. I let out a silent, shaky breath as he seats himself. Taking my own meal, I sit down.

I lay the napkin across my lap and set down my plate on it. I hope that it would cover the fact that my body reacted the same way his had. The silence between us and the need boiling through my veins made even the simple act of eating difficult. Think about something else, Trowa. Think about something not... Quatre. Something VERY not Quatre. I starred down at my food hard, trying to come up with something that didn't remind me of him.

Needles, the word leaps into my head. Needles and crack and cocaine and heroin. There, they have nothing to do with my blonde Angel.

Suddenly I've totally lost my appetite. Not surprising, really, considering my train of thought. I place my half-eaten chicken back on the tray and stare down at my hands. Do I really deserve him? After all the times I've wasted myself or something special? Not particularly. The question is: what can I do about it?

"Trowa," he calls my attention. "I'm sorry for... making this whole thing so awkward."

I shake my head. "Don't be." I tell him again. "I don't know what I'm doing, Quatre, but whatever it comes to, I think I like this." I look up at his face and soften my eyes. He smiles at me cautiously. "Are... are you sure you want this? Us? I mean, if you'd rather just leave it all behind... I'd understand."

Quatre averts his gaze to the ceiling and thinks a moment. "Will you talk to me?" He asks, searching out my eyes. "When something is bothering you or if you need to figure something out, will you talk to me? Not run away?"

'Not run away.' "I think I can do that." I tell him. But it will be hard opening up. Although... if I'm with you, it shouldn't be ...that... difficult. I can trust him, so why am I so worried? "I don't know what I'm doing..." I confess to him. "This whole-- concept is new to me." I gesture to our surroundings.

At my comment he smiles. "I don't know what I'm doing any more than you do, Trowa." He sets aside his plate and studies me.

He bites his lower lip nervously and looks down. I wonder if that was my cue to say something? At his unconscious action my pulse quickens just a bit as I think, that's so cute... He leans back in his chair and stares out the windows behind me. Can I do this? I ask myself as I watch him. Can I let go and trust him? Like I trusted Catherine? Yes. I can. Now to tell him that.

Quatre sits slouching in his chair resting his head on his fist at his right temple thinking something to himself. The center line of his shirt had bubbled out, creating a nest of white cloth around his chin. On an odd impulse I stand up and cross to him. He raises his eyes to me expectantly. I wrap my fingers around the chair's arms and lower myself to his eye level.

I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful in my entire life, not even peace. "I will gladly stay with you, if you'll have me." I tell him.

As if someone had flicked a switch, Quatre's entire face lights up before me. He throws his arms around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss.

I think... I think I can live on his kisses alone.

  
  


Finish

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^_^ Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. *Sniffels* I love sappy endings when it seems almost realistic. Don't you? I always liked this story best out of my GW stuff, that's why you guys get to see it. So, please tell me if you like it or don't. I think I made Quatre to weepy in this, but he's always crying in the series, you know? And so... well... anyway. If you want, I'll start the compnion piece from Quatre's pov. But only if you ask for it.


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